String Theory

I'm posting a little late today because Mr. Wonderful and I both have a day off. We spent the extra time this morning sleeping in and eating a big breakfast. It was so nice. But now it's time to register for next year's classes. Senior year! I haven't decided if I want to go on to grad school yet, but I'll definitely leave that decision for the future. Far in the future.

I'm using the free internet access at McDonald's right now - kinda sketchy, I know -  so I'm a little anxious to get offline. Here's a flashfiction piece I'm working on for a class portfolio. I've really enjoyed writing these, so I hope you appreciate this one.

String Theory

            She didn’t care for love. Or boys, for that matter. She hardly had time for friends, and at her age, who needed a boyfriend anyway? She didn’t need a reason to dress up to be told she looked perfect.

            Her mother had her in enough extra-curriculars to keep her busy through college and beyond. She hoped to break free during college. Not that she didn’t enjoy the city chorus choir, volunteering Thursday nights at a local food shelter, voice lessons, piano lessons, lessons for every stringed instrument, enough to make her her own small orchestra.

            She loved knowing she was admired, especially when her mother was outwardly approving of her work. But it got to be tiresome. Each night she would come home just past dinner-time and instead of sitting down to relax, she would have a mountain of homework. Honors English literature, pre-calc, chemistry, and with the expectation from her mother and instructors that she would practice any one of her instruments for at least an hour each day.

            It was during one her of her longer practice sessions, in fact, that she broke her violin. She had felt the urge to do it before, but feared the consequences, the disappointment, and always talked herself out of it. At one o’clock in the morning in her basement practice room, driven by fatigue and pure frustration after getting the same two measures of music wrong for fifteen minutes, she did it. With both hands she raised the violin over her shoulder and swung it like an axe. Wood splintered into a thousand pieces in the most awful symphony she had heard from the three-thousand dollar instrument.  She stepped over the mess and went upstairs to bed, sleeping in fits.

            Her mother found out the next morning when she went to the basement to collect music for the next Sunday’s church service from the practice room.

            “Do you have any idea how upset I am with you?” was all her mother said when she flipped on the bedroom light.

            The satisfaction of the wood splitting musically in her fists faded like the final note of a cello concerto solo. Her parents used part of the college fund to buy her new violin. She would just have to make up for it in scholarships, her parents told her.

            She held the delicately crafted instrument, running her hand over the fingerboard and feeling out the strings before dragging her bow across them. The instrument shrieked to life, a voice more sure than her own.

A Coffee Break Study of Nature

Writer's block. A masked man with a gun to your head when you don't have the answer.

Eventually he goes away, right when you expect to be shot through the head, usually. Still, it's paralyzing.

I took a break this morning when I got to campus at 7:30, bought a mocha and sat in the campus cafe to sip my drink and nibble my strawberry Pop-tart in peace. It's funny how if you go to a coffee shop without a laptop these days, or at least a book, you get funny looks. One sir even stared directly at me as he passed after saying hello. It's mysterious, I guess, to just sit and take in life.

I just needed time before retreating back inside myself and relinquishing the precious knowledge of anything I've learned about writing, about theology, about analyzing style. Time to clear out the corners of the mind and find all that's there, if possible. With a laptop in your lap, a cellphone in hand, a book to hide behind, it's hard to take in the world around you without distraction. So I sat, undistracted, and watched.

It is said that writers pay closer attention to nature, have more reverence.  I don't know if that is necessarily true, or if we just document our observations more than most. This morning, at the window in the cafe with my coffee, I was a student of nature.

I watched the birds in their flight patterns, swell and dive, swell and dive, two by two. I contemplated the ice cracking and melting and running, forming puddles. I saw the few people here this early take slow, safe steps, cautious on today's ice layer.

Sitting as a silent observer, I overheard the different volumes of the baristas, listened in on the topics of their discussion. What's important to strangers. We're all a little bit the same.

This morning, I took the time to soak in the mysteries and revelation of the flitting birds, the tedious steps, the words that say nothing but reveal more of us than we know.

I watched the trees, reaching up, always reaching up. Even when the snow and ice weigh down as if to break their strength they remain firmly planted, reaching. But even strong trees sometimes fall. Yet they maintain their upward stretch until their time is over.

I want to reach up like the ancient pines and great oaks. Up, beyond the trees and clouds and stars. I want to stop being so conscious of the ice sheet on the ground, afraid of falling, and focus on what is all around. In front, behind, above. Reaching for the answer, the reason, the strength against the things of this world that weigh down. Always up.

The Need for Rest

 As promised, I have some pictures. They're growing! They're growing! I'm such a proud little gardener. My plants are growing.

Poor lighting this time of year + flash not working = I hope you can see the greens!

The garlic cloves are having a little trouble, and so are the sweet chili peppers our friends the E.L.'s got as a housewarming gift. (I call them the E.L.'s because they're getting married, and once they're married their initials will both be E.L.). But as you can see, the tomatoes are coming in quite nicely! It's almost time to transfer them to a larger pot =) Now I just have to figure out how on earth to harvest these things.

I have also been up to my cooking again, and this meal just looked so good I had to take some photos of it! I was slow-cooking a ginormous ham in the crock-pot and had to cut off a chunk so that it would fit. I baked it that night and we had it for dinner, and put the rest away for easy meals for the rest of the week.

 Mr. Wonderful just couldn't get over this meal! My very own recipe =)

 

Oven-baked garlic ham: (Note: I did not measure anything, please forgive me)
- Hunk of ham, fat side facing down in oven-safe cookware
-Fill less than halfway with water
-Cover entire ham in a sprinkling of crushed garlic
-Sprinkle on some herbs de provence (not enough to overwhelm)
-A pinch of black pepper

Heat oven to 400 F. I cooked my ham for about an hour and a half, turning it halfway through. Cook it until it reads 140 F on a meat thermometer.

Now, in my last mini-post I mentioned hating Black Friday. I know that sounds kind of whiny or judgmental, but I really do. And it's not just because people die by being trampled or because of all the craziness that takes place that day. I think that sales are good, my husband and I hit them up as much as possible. Saving money is important. But I just realize that it's not even a day people go out and buy things they particularly need. For many, it's just a day to go out and buy a bunch of things and feel less guilty about spending money because it was "on sale." Let's be honest, unless you're buying electronics, the sales aren't even that great anyway. Is it really worth leaving your family on Thanksgiving, a day we're supposed to reflect on the things in life we're grateful for, to go buy more stuff to fill our homes with?

My mother, who has a hard time turning down a day of work, went in early Thanksgiving morning to get the store ready, then went home in the afternoon just long enough for dinner, then went back to her store to work at least a twelve hour shift, and came home sick and exhausted. She, and many others, did this just so that consumer America could shop. I just can't understand why stores were allowed to open so early this year. Black Friday should remain on Friday, but it has now infringed on Thursday, which is clearly not Friday, but a holiday that we as Americans should observe. Next year, take a day to reflect, a day to be thankful, a day to rest. I believe rest is important from a Christian standpoint, sure, but whether you're a believer or not, there's a reason God calls us to rest. Plainly put, it's good for you. In a world that says go go go, get get get, just stop and take some time to rest your body and mind, and think of the things you've been taking for granted.

Blog #23, done! May you find rest this week.